


Love to faults is always blind

by theworstchosen1



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Lydia is a badass, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Monster of the Week, Slow Burn, because idiots, ignore all plotlines, im just making shit up, not even slightly following the shows plotline, scott and stiles are ultimate bros, stiles finds out he has magic, this doesnt really have a plotline either, triggered because dereks in danger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-09-30 16:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20449754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theworstchosen1/pseuds/theworstchosen1
Summary: Derek almost gets torn apart by the monster of the week, and Stiles does magic to save his life. Everything starts changing from there.





	1. One

Derek was covered in blood. This was obviously not an uncommon occurrence, but everyone in the room stared at him like it was. Mostly because he should be dead. 

_Again,_ Stiles mused to himself, _not an uncommon occurrence._

Only tonight was different. Like so many other nights, they had fought some hellbeast monster set on killing them all, beaten it narrowly, and ended up at Deatons. Tonight had been some sort of were-demon- they had yet to identify it- but whatever it was, it was covered in fur and had sharp fangs. 

Sharp fangs that should have ripped Derek in half. But they didn’t. Because as the were-demon thing had picked Derek up and started to kill him, Derek had been flung out of harms way, ripped from the things claws. The thing had screeched in pain and scarpered- not away from Scott, or Erica, Boyd or Isaac, not even from Lydia. But from _Stiles._

Stiles, who had performed magic. Who had moved Derek out of harms way, and had sent that beast running. Stiles, who according to Scott, had stood there, hand outstretched, eyes glowing, and freaking Harry-Pottered them all to safety. 

Typically, Stiles had fainted and awoken here. Where Deaton was cleaning the poison from the were-demon-things fangs out of the gashes on Dereks bloody chest and shoulder. So perhaps the real reason why everyone was looking at Derek was because no one could meet Stiles’ eyes. 

_Magic._ He had done magic. 

“What was that thing?” Asked Lydia, breaking the silence in the room. Stiles knew the only reason she was here was for him, and he was grateful. 

No one answered, and Stiles realised it was because he was normally the one with the answers. “I don’t know yet.” He said. “I’ll have to look it up.” Isaac rolled his eyes from where he lounged in the corner. Erica and Boyd had gone to check the perimeter of the preserve, to check that thing had really gone, but Isaac would always stay with Derek if he was injured. 

“It was strong. We might have died without-” Scott broke off, and then met Stiles eyes. “We would have died without you, Stiles.” He finished. “Are we going to talk about this? That Stiles can do magic now?” 

Stiles curled his hands into fists. He ached all over, and something was especially painful in his head. “Maybe it was a fluke.” He said quietly. 

“It was not.” Stated Deaton in his clear, no-nonsense voice. “Stiles has always had the capacity to do magic, we knew that already. What triggers many witches, warlocks or druids powers is a traumatic event, where their flight or fight instincts break down the barriers in their minds.”

“But that doesn’t make sense.” Argued Lydia. “We’ve been in loads of traumatic instances before- why should this one be any different?” 

“I don’t know.” Said Deaton calmly, finishing his work on Dereks’ wounds. “Stiles, do you remember anything?” 

_Yes._ “Not really.” 

The truth is that it had all gone white, and the only thing he had been able to see was Derek in the grip of that monster, his blood pouring. The magic had felt like a thundering river- a torrent. He didn’t have to conjure it- it had already been there. He just had to direct it. The truth is that for those few moments he had felt omnipotent, alive, a lightning storm trapped in a boy.

And then it had gone, and he’d awoken here, with Scotts’ earnest, worried face looking at him. 

“We’ll work on it, Stiles.” Said Deaton with a tone of finality. “I can help, if you come by the surgery.” 

Stiles nodded, wordless. 

“Magic lessons?” Smirked Isaac. 

There was a pause, and then Lydia spoke. “I’ll come as well.” When everyone looked at her, she shrugged defensively. “What? I want to get a better grip on my banshee powers. Is that a problem?”

Stiles shot her a half-grin. He couldn’t manage much more. “Sounds like it’s going to be fun.” 

She rolled her eyes at him, and shoved him lightly on the shoulder. 

Only it felt like a punch to the stomach. 

For the brief second where her hand had brushed his bare arm, electricity had shot through him, the wind was knocked out of him. Like he’d been electrocuted. 

He stared at her, her eyes were wide with shock and confusion- she had felt it too.

“What was-” Stuttered Stiles. 

“What happened?” Asked Derek, eyes flicking between the two of them. Scott had also braced himself into what Stiles secretly called werewolf-battle pose. They all do it at the first sign of danger. 

Without taking her eyes off of Stiles, Lydia extended a hand. With mounting trepidation, Stiles reached out and took it. 

It was less dramatic this time, but still there was the shock of live wires connecting, the sudden rush of- of Lydia. 

Stiles stared at her. “I can feel your magic.” He said softly. 

Lydia nodded. “I can feel yours.” 

Lydia’s magic wasn’t calm. It was volatile and spiky and dangerous, and yet it was so sinuous with _her_\- it was literally part of her, her blood and bones, and despite the way it screamed, Stiles found it strangely comforting. 

Lydia’s fingers gripped his own. He realised that she was wincing, cringing as if in pain. 

“Your magic.” She whispered. “It hurts.” 

He nodded, and gave her half a smile. “I noticed.”

He pulled his hand away from hers, not wanting her to hurt any more. The feel of her magic vanished, and he found that, strangely, he missed it. 

“So… what just happened?” Scott asked, staring at them. 

Lydia looked at Scott. She looked shaken and pale, her hair vibrant in the dim light of the surgery. “I can sense Stiles’ magic when I touch him. He can do the same.”

Deaton stepped forwards, eyes narrowed in interest. “What was its’ nature?” He asked her. “It may help us find out what sort of magic Stiles possesses if you can tell us.”

Lydia shook her head in reply, and stared at Stiles, eyes wide. “There’s so much. So much of it. And it’s loud. And painful.” 

Derek smirked. “Sounds like you, Stiles.” 

Stiles halfheartedly flipped him off in response. 

Lydia wasn’t finished- she ignored Derek and met Stiles’ eyes. “I don’t know how you’re coping. With all that in your head.” 

The room quieted. Stiles looked at his knees. 

Derek stood suddenly. “Is there something we can do? About the pain?” 

Stiles looked up at him in surprise. Maybe Derek felt he owed Stiles, after Stiles saved his life tonight. 

Deaton shook his head. “Stiles will have to adapt to the burden.” He paused. “I’m sorry.” He added. “You should all go home and rest.” He began putting his tools and medicines away. “Check in with me tomorrow, Stiles.” 

“I’ll drive you home.” Said Derek, still looking at Stiles. 

Stiles frowned. He assumed Scott would be dropping him home, even if Derek did have to drive nearer to Stiles’ house on the way to the loft. “Is that your way of getting even after I saved your life tonight?” 

Derek looked away. “Something like that.” 

Stiles half expected Scott to argue- even after all this time Scott and Derek still butt heads, especially over members of the pack Scott considers his- Stiles, Lydia, Allison. The two of them fought less these days. There was almost a weekly threat in Beacon Hills- still brought in by that bloody tree, which Lydia still dreamed about but none of us understood. They all spent so much time trying to save each others lives that arguing became a bit stupid.

Scott and Isaac got into Lydia’s car, but she brought Stiles aside, careful not to touch his skin. 

She looked at him, green eyes luminous in the dark. He often fought she looked like some kind of fairy- red hair and pale skin and bright eyes. “We’ll figure it out, Stiles.” 

He nodded. “I know. It just- it was so easy. I felt in control, y’know? But then…” 

Her eyes were lasers on his. “What?” 

Stiles drew a breath. Derek was in the Camaro, Scott and Isaac in Lydia’s car. He knew that they could hear him if they wanted to, but hoped that they wouldn’t. He’d had a whole conversation with them a few months ago about how-to-not-use-your-supernatural-wolf-gifts-to-be-knobs-to-your-friends. 

“I didn’t mean to throw Derek. I just wanted to save him. Instead I threw him into a tree and dislocated his shoulder.” He whispered urgently. Lydia only gazed steadily at him. 

“Stiles, you saved his life.” She said, brow furrowed. 

“Yeah, I know. And I’m glad of that but I wasn’t in control! I just wanted that thing to let go of him, not to throw him 10 metres through the air.” He exhaled. “I wasn’t in control, Lyds.” 

Lydia smiled a little, and gently touched his bare arm- goose-pimpled in the cold night air. Like last time, he felt the connection of their magic, felt that fierceness that was always prowling beneath her skin. But this time was even less of a shock- in fact, he felt comforted. “Of course you weren’t in control. I didn’t use to be. But you’ll learn, Stiles. I’ve known you long enough to know that there’s very little you can’t teach yourself.” 

Stiles exhaled again. “Thanks, Lyds.” 

She nodded. “See you tomorrow.” 

Stiles got into Dereks’ car with a fair bit of trepidation- which he personally thought was stupid- he had saved this growly werewolfs life tonight. And dislocated his shoulder. But they could ignore that, he was sure. 

Derek wordlessly started the car and pulled away. 

“So,” started Stiles, because he can’t abide silence. It made Stiles itchy. “Am I technically more powerful than you now?” 

Derek gave him a slightly despairing look without turning his head from the road. “Not if you don’t have any control.”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, yeah, I remember your whole true-power is control speech you gave Scott back in the day. So if I can control it, am I more powerful than you?” 

“No.”

“Buddy,” grins Stiles. “I dislocated your shoulder tonight.” 

“Which took less than a minute to heal.” Derek countered. 

Stiles purposefully blocked the image of Derek yanking his shoulder back into place. Mostly because he shouldn’t find the idea attractive. He didn’t see any of that- of course. He remembers that beast running into the trees and Derek, crumpled on the ground, trying to stand. 

That’s not quite true. 

The last thing he remembers is Derek- trying to stand, injured, covered in blood- trying to get to _Stiles_. The last thing he remembers is Dereks’ eyes- fading from red to brown- staring at him. Like he was scared, like he was ready to fight. 

“Fine,” Said Stiles. “I saved your life.” 

There’s a beat. “You did.” Said Derek quietly. “You have before, though.” 

Stiles scoffed. “Oh yeah, of course.”

Derek rolled his eyes. They had turned onto Stiles’ road- with relief, Stiles saw there was no squad car outside his house. “You have, Stiles. You’ve saved us all dozens of times- without you, how would we know what anything is or how to kill it?” 

“My true magical powers: googling.” 

“Something like that.” Said Derek. “Are you still in pain.” 

The headache in Stiles skull pulsed in response. He shrugged. “I guess.” 

Derek nodded but said nothing as he pulled up outside Stiles’ house, but before Stiles could thank him for the lift, Derek was out of the car. Confused, Stiles followed suit. Derek had walked around the car, and was stood on the pavement. Stiles half expected him to have opened the door for him and ushered him up the driveway. 

“Thanks for the lift.” Stiles said. 

Derek looked at him steadily. “Thanks for saving my life.”

Stiles shrugged a shoulder, and without warning, Derek reached out and hugged him. Just quickly- a thank you hug, a quick press of body to body. Then he pulled away, clapped Stiles on the shoulder, and got back into the camaro. 

Stiles raised a hand in farewell and took the stairs up to his front door two at a time, rummaging for his keys. 

He had some serious googling to do.


	2. Two

Stiles woke to his father banging on the door and shouting that he was going to be late. It was the usual alarm clock, and like way too many mornings to be honest, Stiles’ face was stuck to paper with drool, and his back and neck were killing him from sleeping slumped over on his desk. 

He’d stayed up till dawn reading up on every form of mythology he could find on the hellbeast demon were thing, and he had found half a dozen options from the pages that they had translated from the Grimoire and found about another 40 options off of the internet that all seemed wrong. He had then spent even more hours trying to find stuff on magic. Unfortunately, due to it _being the internet_ he was searching through pages on teenage girls making potions in their kitchens and Harry Potter fanfiction. He had spent a good deal of time after that staring at a pencil on his desk and trying to get it to move. 

He assumed that was about when he fell asleep. 

Like every morning after a night like this- fighting monsters or late-night-research-slash-homework or both, in this case, being awake was a struggle. 

The werewolves were, of course, fine. Scott was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he met Stiles in the school parking lot. 

“How are you not asleep?” Stiles groaned at him.

Scott grinned. “Superior biology.” 

Stiles shoved him halfheartedly. “As if. Superior senses and the ability to not be exhausted right now are not worth the rest of the shit of being a werewolf.” He explained. 

“You don’t seem that tired, as you’re currently shouting about me being a werewolf in front of the school.” Scott pointed out, one raised eyebrow judging Stiles. 

“Relax, Scotty.” Said Stiles, swinging them towards the school doors, and the promise of eight hours of tiredness and stress. “If they haven’t figured it out by now, nothing is going to help them.” 

… 

Stiles was focused by the time he got home. He knew himself well enough to know that when he is focused- which is really just the adderall doing its job, he can do his best damn work as the packs “googler”. Derek once went on at him about the position of ‘emissary’ in a pack- collector of information and former of connections, but Stiles knows that’s just a fancy title for the admin guy. He may as well be bringing the rest of them coffee. 

School had been terrible. He was still aching all over from his magic, which he really hoped would go away. His head pulsed in large crowds, such as hallways or the cafeteria. Around 4th period, however, he realised that if he focused his gaze and thoughts on one thing, he could become sort of… hyper-aware of it, and drown out the steady thrum of pain in his skull. Things got really exciting when he tried focusing on a person, and realised that he could somehow sense more than what he could tell with his eyes. 

It was like this: if you look at someone briefly, or from far away, you might notice their gender, their clothes, the colour of their hair. If you really look, you might notice their cool shoes or the brand of their jeans or the fact that their makeup was smudged. 

But now, when Stiles really looked, he culd see beyond their appearance. He could see fashes of emotion, of thought, of energy. Scotts was different, and much louder, than everyone else in the room. Lydia’s was like a hurricane, and also somehow like flowers. He’d been sat next to Danny in Chemistry, and had managed to figure out that Danny was generally quite stressed right now, but that every time he looked at his phone, he got a bit happier. And also that his energy was really turquoise blue. 

Not everyone had colours or distinguishing features, but Danny did- and Lydia was like electricity, and Scott felt warm, and Isaac sounded like crackly classical music. 

After a good few periods of not listening beyond noting down the topics to study later, he figured out the difference in energy between werewolf and human, Lydia and human. Between humans was a bit harder. 

He would go to Alan’s tomorrow night and talk all this out, but the full moon was tonight and Stiles knew that if he was going to help anyone he needed to forget about magic and figure out what the fuck was running about the woods, or his friends might all be ripped to shreds come morning. The problem was, that in the dark, the monster had been pretty hard to see- he’d seen white fangs and a hairy body and Derek being lifted into the air. 

Stiles opened his laptop to his most recent search: a vampiric monster called an Apotamkin. He’d given up when he realised the monster had been westernised into something hairy with big teeth, and in the traditional native american belief it was a sea monster. 

Resigning himself to another long night of searching, he reopened google. 

…

Two hours later, Stiles texted Derek: _come now I know what the hairy thing is and its not good news._  
Not that we expected it to be good news.  
But it’s not good news.

Derek, thankfully, responded with: _on my way._

A minute later, he tapped on Stiles window. Stiles appreciated it- it showed significant progress- Derek now tapped to be let in rather than letting himself in and scaring the ever living crap out of Stiles. 

Stiles leaned back in his desk chair to see that Derek was perched, seemingly effortlessly, on the sloped roof outside Stiles’ window, his hair getting damp in the drizzle. 

_Soggy werewolf_, Stiles mouthed at him. Derek glared, and mimed Stiles unlocking the window. Deciding not to piss off the soggy werewolf, Stiles obliged. Derek climbed in with the supernatural grace all were-beings seemed to possess, which infuriated Stiles to no end as he and Scott used to rival each other in clumsiness, and now Stiles was alone in tripping over his own feet. 

“It’s a kind of bogeyman.” Stiles said without preamble. 

“Bit fairytale, isn’t it?” Replied Derek. He looked over Stiles’ shoulder at the picture on his laptop- a hulking hairy figure with indistinct features. 

“Oh, sorry, do mind me, _werewolf_, I’ll just go visit my grandma through the woods.” Quipped Stiles sarcastically. Derek gave him _The Look_, which is an exasperated and pissed off expression that Stiles knows secretly means that Derek has found Stiles’ comments very exceedingly funny, but doesn’t want Stiles to know. 

Derek said nothing beyond _The Look_, so Stiles decides to explain. “Bogeyman are in most cultures as just a sort of monster-man who takes away naughty children, I mean, they differ through German folklore, Brazil, the Meditteranean, Spain, and Latin America. The Latin American version is called ‘El Coco’- it has a hairy brown face, and they eat children who are out of bed after dark. I found it on a forum but it’s in the Grimoire as well- I sent the pages across to Lydia and she translated most of it. It’s definitely a bogeyman- there’s even some folklore that fits about the time of year.”

Derek frowned. “So you think…” 

“That every kid or teenager out of bed in Beacon Hills is in danger until we kill it.” Stiles affirmed. “It would be really nice to have a couple of weeks off, wouldn’t it?” 

“That’s not going to happen, not with the tree.” Derek pointed out. 

“I hate that fucking tree.” 

“Yeah, me too.” Said Derek, sinking down to sit on Stiles’ bed. The action gave Stiles a thrill- a year ago Derek would have never dreamed to be that comfortable in Stiles’ room. The day Stiles discovered that Dereks’ growly, unfriendly nature was mostly due to social anxiety (and inability, if he’s being honest) was a great day. 

“So how do we kill a bogeyman?” Asked Derek. 

Stiles frowned and ran a hand through his hair- he can tell already that it was sticking up all over the place. “I don’t really know. It’s certainly not unkillable- doing the classic beheading or ripping its heart out will probably sort it out. I haven’t been able to find any kryptonites.” 

Derek nodded, looking pensieve. He normally did, when he was thinking. 

Stiles realised Derek was one of the few members of the pack he hadn’t tested out his new trick on. He had brought his Dads’ energy into view when he got home- it felt warm and comforting and he could tell his Dad was pissed off with something- which predictably was work, as he had a good rant to Stiles in less than a minute of seeing him. 

He was curious about Derek. Would his energy thingy be the same as Scotts’? As they were both alpha werewolves? Derek sat, unassuming, on his bed and read through the notes Stiles had printed out- most of which weren’t useful but quite interesting, at least in Stiles opinion. Was it weird, to look at this without someone’s permission? He hadn’t thought of that. What if he saw something they didn’t want him to see? Was it technically intruding? Like knowing someones’ Hogwarts house before you asked them. 

Still, Stiles thought, every werewolf he knew could smell Stiles’ mood on him. So he was only intruding in return, really. 

“Have you got any further with your magic today?” Asked Derek, reading Stiles’ mind. “Hurting any less?” He said it without looking up, still scanning the notes. 

“Sort of.” Stiles mumbled. 

“To which?” 

“To both.” 

Stiles could feel Derek looking at him, so he started reading the webpage on the forum on bogeyman he had found earlier. He heard Derek ruffle his paper, and focused on the sound, and on the very faint noise of Dereks’ breath in the quiet room. He sat back in his chair, and sneaked a look. Trying not to make it obvious, he reached out, and _pulled_, until he could see-

Everything was suddenly bright white light.

He could hear Dereks’ heartbeat. Could feel the movement of his breaths. Dereks’ pulse sped up to match his own, beating in tandem, like they were sharing veins. And suddenly his mind too- as if it was completely open to him. 

Images, thoughts, emotions, it all went crashing through Stiles’ head. He could see himself, in his chair, from Dereks’ point of view, could feel the sudden fear, the urge to protect as Derek sensed something was wrong, saw an inadvertent flash of Scott’s face, and Cora’s. And in a sudden rush- the tide retreating as he panicked and tried to stop looking- he felt the bright warm light, like the sun on his face and like coming home. 

He stopped looking. It was too much. He didn’t understand. 

Derek was staring at him. “Stiles?” He said- probably not for the first time. “What’s wrong?” 

Stiles just stared back at him. 

Derek gripped his shoulder. “_Stiles._ What is it?” 

“Nothing.” Croaked Stiles. He couldn’t stop staring into Derek’s eyes. 

“Magic?” Asked Derek. His eyes searched Stiles’ in return. 

“Yeah. It’s fine.” Stiles shook his head, as if clearing it. “You should go talk to the pack about the bogeyman.” 

“Stiles.” Said Derek firmly. If Stiles didn’t know better, he would have said that Derek looked worried. 

“_I'm fine._” Stiles insisted. He wasn’t fine. He felt like he had been shaken to his core- like every foundation he had built his life on had moved an inch to the left. 

Why was Derek so different? Why was he so much… more? Was that Stiles’ magic, reacting to something? Or was it because of Derek himself? 

Derek, himself, was still looking at Stiles like he was ready to shake the answer out of him. That was absolutely not going to happen. Stiles, physically, could not open his mouth and say _I had a breakdown because your magical energy field thing that I can see if I try really hard was so bright and beautiful that it literally knocked the breath out of me and now I don’t know how to react._

He was fairly sure his brain would turn off and kill him if he attempted to say that- just to save him the slow painful death from embarrassment. 

“Go.” Stiles said firmly. “Tell Scott and the others. You’re going to need a plan.” He pauses. “Don’t let Isaac make the plan.”

Derek, finally, took a step back and removed his hand from its death grip on Stiles’ shoulder. He was still looking concerned, but asked; “Why not?” 

“He always makes me bait.” Grumbled Stiles, opening a new document on his laptop for his History essay, and attempting to ignore the quiet chuckle emitted by the werewolf exiting his window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! Lemme know if I have any mythology stuff wrong x


	3. Three

By 10pm, Beacon Hills was full of wolves. Scott and Derek probably wouldn’t shift until there was danger, but the betas would be shifted, answering the call of the moon. Their control was getting better, but Scott and Derek would still have to assert some dominance to keep them in line. 

Also by 10pm, Stiles had shouted at his Dad that he was going to Scotts', and legged it out of the door and into his jeep. This wasn’t routine- normally he stayed in on full moons, anxiously awaiting the ‘all clear- all good’ texts from Scott and Derek. Erica would then normally ring him with the highlights. But the problem was Lydia had just emailed through the last paragraph she had translated from the Grimoire, with the email subject: “STILES!!”. And Lydia Martin didn’t double-exclamation-mark. It was beneath her. 

“Shit.” Muttered Stiles. He pushed the speed limit- and then over it- racing towards the preserve. Lydia said she would meet him there. 

The online forum on mythology Stiles had been following had said that bogeymen were set out to kill and eat naughty children, or children out of bed. Stiles had figured that this bogeyman, aiming for one of the pack, would get a nasty surprise when it turned out to be five werewolves, not four children. He was fine with those odds, to be honest. Last time they hadn’t had the betas. 

But the Grimoire said different, and Stiles knew which he trusted. The words Lydia had translated circled in Stiles’ mind. _Bogeyman, alike all creatures born of belief, cannot be physically destroyed. Their strength is drawn from fear and violence. Do not approach without magical assistance. The bogeyman runs before magical power._

He wasn’t sure what he could do. Tell them all to get inside? That they couldn’t fight this one and win. That they needed magic. 

Maybe Lydia could do it. Because he had no idea what he was doing. He couldn’t be depended on for this. For hells’ sake- he had discovered his magic yesterday. Since then all he had figured out was that he could see people’s energies and also that he had no idea what any of it means. 

Last time was a fluke- his magic had been triggered- that was why he had been able to drive that thing away. They couldn’t rely on him to be able to do the same thing again. They couldn’t rely on him to do anything. 

He stopped the jeep dead in the middle of the track up to the Hale House- one of the pack would smell him and come find him now he was on the preserve. Regardless, he started jogging into the trees in the direction of the deepest part of the preserve, still owned by the Hales. 

Sure enough to his prediction, a figure appeared between the trees, moving unnaturally fast.The glimpse of red eyes betrayed it to be a werewolf- which was good because if the bogeyman had got him here Scott and Derek would probably put aside their differences and necromancy him back to life so they could kill him again. Derek materialised- a shadow from the trees, looking like a hot nightmare, if that was a thing. He looked angry and worried to see Stiles, which was fair. 

“Bogeyman can’t be killed without magic.” He panted. “You have to get everyone inside.” 

Derek absorbed the information with a blink. He opened his mouth to reply, but then snapped his head to the side. Stiles had spent enough time around werewolves to know that this meant that Derek had just caught the scent of something. “It’s too late. Scott’s found it.” 

“The bogeyman?” Asked Stiles. 

“Yes.”

“Shit.” 

Derek responded by sprinting off into the distance. Stiles started to run after him, but he was soon out of sight. Stiles ran faster, breaking twigs under his feet, leaping over branches and undergrowth, thankful that running with wolves had made him faster. He hoped no one was hurt. He hoped Lydia was on her way. He hoped Derek wouldn’t kill him for following him into a battle. 

But the werewolves were powerless. Stiles wasn’t. He was just, y’know, completely incompetent.

Still, he was better than nothing. Or at least, he hoped so. 

Noise of a fight greeted him- werewolves roaring, the crashing of bodies colliding and branches breaking, a horrible, ripping sound. 

He burst through the trees. 

The bogeyman seemed at least twice the size Stiles remembered, about nine-foot-tall, lit by the full moon. It was a giant, hulking figure, covered in shaggy black hair. It had a skeletal, monstrous face and a gaping mouth, filled with sharp yellowed teeth. It was almost humanoid in figure, but with elongated limbs and long fingers, ending in half a foot long claws. 

Claws dripping with blood. 

Scott was fighting viciously, jumping in and out of the fray, slashing with his claws. His shirt was ripped and bloody from recently healed wounds, but he didn’t seem to still be injured, so Stiles didn’t think the bogeyman had got his teeth in yet. 

The only reason why was because of the Erica, Boyd, and Derek. Every time the bogeyman lunged for one of them, another two dove into the fight, scratching and distracting it, and then dancing out of sight. It was so preoccupied in trying to kill the four darting werewolves that it hadn’t even noticed Stiles. Which was a good thing, because Stiles was useless unless he could perform another trick like last night. 

The beast was only lit by the moonlight, and the woods were still dark to Stiles’ human eyes. The fight was like something out of his worst nightmares, or a horror movie- indistinct figures, lunging and roaring in pain and fury, sharp claws and glowing eyes flashing in the moonlight. Stiles didn’t know where Isaac was, but hopefully he was finding Lydia. 

The bogeyman let out a terrible roar, and slashed out in a wide arc. Boyd, Erica, and Derek had to jump back, and Boyd shouted as bloody ribbons were torn into his chest. In the split second they were distracted, it caught Scott in the chest, and lifted him clear off the ground.   
Everything slowed down. 

It was happening again, the beast lifted Scott effortlessly, even as he roared and thrashed and lashed out with his claws. The bogeymans’ own claws were buried in Scotts’ abdomen, blood spurting out onto the ground. 

That gaping mouth opened wide, fangs gleaming- reaching for Scotts' throat- Derek roared and leapt forwards-

Stiles reached, desperately, into his chest, his stomach, trying to find some hint of magic, something he could fight with. Anything. Anything that would help, would fight, would stop Scott dying- he couldn’t watch, he couldn’t bear it- 

A scream cut the night. Split the air, dug into his brain, ripped away all sound but that one, long shrieking note. 

A banshee’s scream. It carved through the night, unstoppable, deafening. Stiles’ head pounded, his ears rang in pain. The wolves were on the ground, writhing as the noise shredded their sensitive senses. The bogeyman had dropped Scott to the ground, and was clutching its’ own head, it’s mouth gaped open in a silent scream.

Stiles drew deep breaths, steadied himself. I wasn’t as bad for him as it was for the others. He took two steps forward, and saw Lydia- crimson hair flying, hand outstretched, screaming and screaming. Isaac was with her, clumped against a tree, his wolfed-out hands clenched around his head. 

Across the gap, the bogeyman between them, Lydia’s fierce gaze met his- panic in her eyes. She couldn’t go on much longer- she was pale, shaking. 

It was up to him. 

Lydia’s scream had rendered the thing immobile, it was almost bent double, writhing in pain- but so were the wolves. Stiles was alone. 

He didn’t know how to do magic. He didn’t know what to do. Again, he reached inside himself, searching for some hidden switch, some secret compartment of his mind labelled ‘magic’. 

There was nothing. 

Lydia’s scream quietened. She was shaking. 

Stiles stood fast, raised a hand. Letting fear for his friends, for himself, for what he had to do and couldn’t do, fill him, and tried to channel it. But there was nothing- no magic. 

Lydia got even quieter. The bogeyman stopped writhing, the wolves stopped twitching. 

Derek, half curled as he knelt on the floor, lifted his head. 

He met Stiles’ eyes. 

Stiles looked back at the bogeyman and did the only thing he knew how to do- he _looked_. He pulled away its physical appearance- and brought its’ energy- its’... _soul_, into view instead.

Damp. Cold. Dark. Like the slimy place beneath a rock that hasn’t been lifted in a thousand years. Like the empty eye-socket of an old corpse. Like something rotten, dead, forgotten. It had been wrenched out from its’ hideaway, pulled back into the light- the moon was _so bright_\- almost blinding- drawn helplessly towards it. The tree. Those angular branches reaching into the sky. It pulled it closer, into the light, to where prey was-

Stiles reeled back. 

Derek lunged for the bogeyman. 

Lydia’s scream finally stopped, and she swayed- was caught by Isaac.

For a moment, Derek hung, suspended, midair, his claws reached out. The bogeyman had its back to him- was still recovering- and for a moment, Stiles thought Derek was going to rip its throat out- 

Faster than the eye could track, one of those arms reached back and snatched Derek, pulled him sideways, around, towards the bogeymans’ gaping mouth- and now Stiles could see its’ eyes- gleaming and hungry and black, victorious. 

Stiles didn’t think. Didn’t reach inside himself for something hidden. He simply _became_. 

It was a switch- as simple as that. 

He turned it on. 

All he thought about was that slimy creature, burning under the moon- even the depths of night too bright- burning its’ skin. 

So he became light. 

Bright and burning, the white-hot centre of a flame. He flung the light out, filling the woods, filling the sky, twisted it around and around the monster, trapping it in a cage of blinding fire. 

Derek landed in the dirt, and scrambled away, unscathed, but shielding his eyes, stumbling back and away. 

Stiles’ didn’t pay attention. Just focused on t_his thing_\- that he now had trapped, enclosed in his fiery cage. He brought the walls in closer, closer, as the bogeyman screamed in fear and pain. Stiles didn’t hesitate. His friends had killed so many monsters- to protect the town, to protect each other, to protect Stiles, on occasion. He was part of the pack. He would do the same thing. 

He waited no longer. He concentrated the light, brought it all back- from the woods, from the sky- concentrated it into this one sphere that enclosed the bogeyman, until it was a sun, burning in the centre of the woods. His friends had turned away- shielding themselves. And yet he could look. He drove his sunlight into the heart of the monster, and tore it apart. It screamed as it died. 

Stiles exhaled. He pulled the light back- let some dissipate into the night air, and brought the rest back into himself, feeling the warm rush of energy, filling his veins, clearing his head. He was breathing heavily, his pulse was racing- but he had never felt so alive as this. 

Despite the headache building in the back of his skull, despite his shaking limbs he was sure were about to give out on him- he was pulsing with magic. 

Lydia raised her head first. 

She looked at him, terrified, incredulous. Like she might run and give him a hug. 

The wolves rose slowly, looking haggard and mystified and wary- and they too turned and looked at him like he was a stranger. 

There was a few tense seconds. 

“What?” Asked Stiles. “Do I have something on my face?” 

Scott broke into a massive grin. “That was amazing, man.” He said. The wounds on his chest were healing but he kept a hand pressed to his abdomen. 

Stiles grinned back. 

“You know you’re still glowing, right?” Drawled Erica, arms crossed. 

Stiles looked down at his arms and hands. Sure enough, light jumped in sparks between his fingers, up his arms. His veins were glowing softly through his skin. 

“Not very subtle.” Said Isaac, walking closer. 

“So I guess I’m the human torch now?” Stiles tried. 

Erica rewarded him with a smile. “You wish, Stilinski.” 

Stiles closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to relax, to let go… When he reopened his eyes, the light was fading. 

He grinned back up at the others. 

Derek rolled his eyes, turning his head so Stiles wouldn’t see him smile. Scott grinned back. “Nailed it.” He said. 

Lydia suddenly let out a startled noise. Stiles jerked round to look at her- only to met by a faceful of her hair as she crashed into him, wrapping her arms around him. He stumbled back, but held on tight. Her magic washed over him, jumping up to meet his own. He didn’t care about the wolves in the wood- he just focused on holding onto her as strongly as she held onto him. 

“I’m going to kill you.” She muttered into his neck. “You scared me.”

“Are you kidding me?” He said. “Did you see what you did? You were terrifying. And amazing.” 

“Thank you.” She said seriously, which made Stiles laugh. She smiled too, and pulled away. “Don’t expect a hug every time you do something impossible.” 

“That _was impossible._” Said Derek. 

Stiles turned to look at him. “Useful, though.” 

Derek smiled, just a little. Stiles tried his best to ignore the fluttery feeling in his stomach that appeared whenever Derek smiled at him. “Yeah. A little bit useful.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was still the full moon. Lydia bid them all goodnight and went home, telling Stiles sternly that she would see him tomorrow night at Deatons. The betas were keen to get back to the usual running of things, and were already “training”, which basically meant they were just fighting each other. (Erica was winning.) Scott and Derek would join them, but for now they converged on Stiles. 

Scott gripped his upper arm and grinned. “How’re you doing?” He asked. 

Stiles shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Not like I’m going to faint, which is good.” 

“Does it still hurt?” Asked Derek. His stare was intense on Stiles, but that was nothing new, Dereks’ stare was normally intense. Except every now and again, when Stiles could jibe him into being relaxed. 

Stiles thought about it. His whole body was thrumming with adrenaline, but the ache was still there- an undertone to the rush of the magic. His very bones seemed to ache with the effort he had exerted, but his head was remarkably quiet. No headache or spikes of pain. His thoughts were clear. Still, now he had noticed his aching bones the pain seemed to increase- it was harder to ignore. 

“I guess.” He answered. “Different though.” 

Derek nodded. “I’ll walk you back to the jeep.” 

Scott looked like he was going to protest- and to be fair, Stiles was ready to say that he didn’t need an escort, at least not in that sense, but Derek gestured with a jerk of his head. “Let’s go.”

Stiles shrugged at Scott. “Text me in the morning.” 

With a tight look between Stiles and Derek, Scott nodded and jogged over to the betas. Stiles turned, and started walking back to the jeep. 

Derek was silent, but he walked beside Stiles, rather than in front of him. The silence was easy- Stiles was going through the nights events in his head. He could still see the whole wood flush with light, as if he had created day where it had been night. 

“That’s the second time you’ve saved my life.” Derek said, breaking the silence. 

“In just two days, as well.” Grinned Stiles. 

“No need to get cocky, Stilinski.” 

“You know what? I think there is some need. Did you not see what I did, Hale? I was awesome.”

There was a pause. “It was amazing.” 

Stiles stumbled over a loose tree root. “Was that a genuine compliment from Derek Hale? Forget the magic, _that_ is the craziest thing to happen tonight.” 

“Don’t make me take it back.” 

Stiles mock gasped. “You wouldn’t dare!” 

Derek chuckled quietly. In the dark, Stiles couldn’t see his face. “I’ve never seen magic like yours.” He said, a few moments later. 

“What kinds of magic have you seen?”

Derek was silent for a moment, thinking, then; “We had a coven visit, once. I must have been about ten. My mum welcomed them onto our territory. They were looking for somewhere to settle down, and having a coven of witches tied to a territory strengthens it, so mum was fine with it. They did a lot of nature magic- looked after the forests, spoke to spirits, brewed potions and gave us them as gifts… none of them could do what you do.” 

Stiles absorbed this in silence. “Why didn’t they stay?” 

“They said that the strong energy that had brought them to the Hale territory wasn’t compatible with their magic- it was making them sick, weak. They tried to warn my mum about it, they told her she couldn’t handle it.” 

“Bet she loved that.” 

“She told them where to stick it, I’m sure.” 

“She sounds great.” Stiles said softly. 

For a minute, Stiles didn’t think Derek would answer. Then, “She was. A better alpha than I’ll ever be, as well.” 

The jeep came into view, and the trees became less thick, letting in more light. Stiles stopped watching where he’s putting his feet and looked at Derek instead. 

“Hey, Derek?” 

“Mm?” 

“I bet it was that fucking tree. That scared the coven away.” 

And in the half light, Stiles saw Derek smile. “Oh, I’m _sure_ it was the fucking tree.” 

...

By the end of the following school day, Stiles was exhausted. He’d been buzzing all night, too full of light and energy to sleep. He’d been trying to control the magic, now that he knew how. Sometimes he could conjure a small amount of light, but most of the time he produced so much light that his room seemed to be on fire. He was thankful that his dads room was down the hall, because he managed to light the hall up too. Enough that at about 4am his dad yelled at him to turn the lights off. 

School was a long boring torture- long and dull. Scott and the betas were all half-asleep, the way they always were the day after a full moon. Erica was the only one worth talking too, and even she was especially tired after all the drama of the night before. 

His magic was still not under control. Luckily he didn’t explode into light during the day, but he was so hot he was sweating in his T-Shirt, whilst everyone else was wrapped up in jumpers and coats. Even the werewolves were, if only for appearances. Danny said he might have a temperature. Stiles nodded and said maybe, which made Scott giggle from across the room. 

Stiles spent all of lunch with Lydia, but whilst he was willing to try and come up with answers to all his questions, Lydia was insistent that they knew nothing until they talked to Deaton, and reminded him that they should still be working on trying to figure out the tree. 

“I get this is exciting, Stiles, but if I find myself at one more murder scene because of some evil mythical monster, I’m moving away.” 

“We’ve gone through every bit of mythology on evil trees we can find, Lyds.” 

“You’re not the one finding the bodies, Stiles.” 

They turned up to Deatons just as he was seeing out a poodle with a cone on its’ head and shutting up the surgery. 

“Stiles. Lydia. Come in.” Said Deaton. 

Stiles thought they might go and sit in Deatons’ office, but instead he led them to the surgical room, complete with the stainless steel operating table. Stiles winced a little at the memories this room brought with it. 

Today, however, there was a young woman leaning against the wall. She looked up from her phone as they came in. She had lots of messy blonde hair, falling almost to her hips, and very large blue eyes- magnified slightly by her glasses. She didn’t smile. 

“Hey.” Said Stiles. 

She said nothing, just looked at him with her massive eyes. It was unnerving. 

“Stiles, Lydia, this is Cassandra, a druid contact and friend of mine. She has travelled all around the world, compiling information on different forms of magic. I thought she may be of some assistance to us tonight.” Explained Deaton, shutting the door behind them and moving to the centre of the room. 

“I’m sorry, Alan.” Said Cassandra, in a light, airy voice. “But I will be of little help.” 

Deaton looked as confused as Stiles felt. Stiles exchanged a wary look with Lydia, who was watching Cassandra carefully. 

“Why not?” Asked Deaton. 

Cassandra’s eyes finally slid from Stiles to Lydia. “I could talk to her. I know her magic. It is strong but I have seen banshees like her before.” Her eyes went back to Stiles. “I have never seen magic like his.” 

“Brilliant.” Said Stiles. No one laughed. 

“Well what is he then?” Asked Lydia, looking at Deaton, having dismissed Cassandra as useless. “He must be something.” 

Deaton looked troubled. “It is perplexing. Stiles is clearly powerful- it is strange that he would have discovered his powers so late. The most powerful witches and druids cannot control their power at a young age, and thus it is revealed to them. Less powerful magic-users will discover their power later… Stiles fits into neither story.” 

“His magic…” Said Cassandra. “It burns.” 

The room fell quiet at her pronouncement. Lydia turned her gaze on Stiles. “I know it does.” She whispered.

“You are aware of this too, Stiles.” Said Cassandra. 

Stiles hesitated, then nodded. As if in response, magic warmed in his veins, flames licking at his insides. He was still too warm, even as evening dragged on. Lydia was in a coat- he couldn’t bear the thought of a hoodie. 

“Have you ever seen magic at all similar to mine? Even slightly?” Asked Stiles. 

Cassandra frowned. “I have seen powerful magic users. I have seen weak children whose magic is too much for them. I have felt their magic- its’ nature, its’ power, its’ possibility. I have never seen magic like yours.”

“What do you mean?”

Cassandra spoke gravely. “Your magic has no nature. It is yours to shape as you wish. It follows no rules, is not tied to one element, one transfer, one genre.” She looks at Lydia. “Banshee magic is the communication with the dead. You sense them, on the other side, you sense those recently departed, and you can harness their pain and grief into a scream. Not all banshees can do this, but you are powerful enough to do so.”

She turns back to Stiles. “Your magic is tied to yourself, inherent to your biology. You are not in need of learning a craft, but instead you must learn yourself.” 

“Right.” Said Stiles slowly. 

“Thank you, Cassandra.” Said Alan politely. “But I am still troubled with how, if Stiles magic is so great, he managed to hide it all this time.”

Cassandra regarded Stiles carefully. “ Are your parents magical?”

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of his dad waving a wand, or making a potion. “No, definitely not.” 

Lydia turned to him. “Stiles,” she whispered. “What about your mum? You wouldn’t have known if she was…”

Stiles took a step back. “No. There’s no way.”

“The most likely conclusion.” Said Cassandra. “Is that your magic was bound. I might be able to tell, if you let me.” With slow, graceful movements, she held out a hand, an invite. 

Stiles hesitated. Could his mum have bound his magic? It seemed impossible. His mum was a sacred relic from his childhood. The thought of her ached like a bruise- missing her, and feeling the pain of her loss. Werewolves and magic and all this darkness had come into his life so recently, it almost seemed impossible that it could have existed back then, in a time of childhood and innocence. 

“Go on, Stiles.” Said Deaton, not unkindly.

Stiles reached out his hand, then paused. “It hurt Lydia.” He said. “Touching me.” 

Cassandra lifted her chin. “I’m sure it did.” 

Stiles placed his hand in hers. 

For a moment, there was nothing, then she gripped his hand viciously tight, her eyes clouding over. She breathed deeply, and her hand trembled slightly. Stiles could feel her magic, as well, like cool water. But unlike how Lydia’s magic had felt like it was fighting with his own, and also welcoming it home, hers just felt strange, foreign.

After long moments, she pulled away. 

She was breathing heavily, and regarded him even more closely. After a few more seconds of tense silence, she spoke. 

“Your magic has been bound. Powerfully. It must have taken a lot of force to break the bonds, and perhaps even more force to bind it in the first place. There is very little guidance I can give you, but I would start with what triggered your magic.” 

“My friends,” said Stiles. “They were going to die.” 

“Is that an uncommon occurrence?” Asked Cassandra. 

“No.” Said Stiles, Lydia, and Deaton together.

“Derek.” Said Lydia softly. “It was Derek who was in danger, both times.” Her eyes were wide and only slightly accusatory on Stiles’ own. 

Stiles could feel himself start blushing- the last thing he wanted was his foolish crush being outed by Lydia in front of Deaton and a random witch lady. “I’ve watched Derek almost die a thousand times, that can’t be it.” 

And yet, his thoughts were stirred. It was true, what he had said. But at the same time, he had not felt the same fear as when he watched Derek almost be killed by the bogeyman for a long time- a painful lurch in his gut, like Derek being in danger was so inherently wrong that it couldn’t be allowed, like he had to do something. When had that started? Over the last couple of months, when Derek and Stiles had begun to talk more easily, have conversations outside of the subject of Scott and werewolves and imminent threats? 

Deaton was looking at him strangely. “Maybe, Stiles, you should talk to Derek.” 

_Brilliant._


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles decided to face his problem head on. It was not his normal way of doing things, baseball bat not included, but the facing-your-problems-head-on and all-guns-blazing had always worked for Scott and Derek... so why not for him?

It was this philosophy that brought Stiles to the door of Dereks’ loft, armed with a backpack full of ancient mythology books, a laptop, and a stomach-tingling sense of unease. 

He knew he couldn’t linger on the doorstep like this- Derek would smell him- probably already had. Regardless, he tried something he had done last night- sat alone in his room, flexing and curling his hands into fists, alone in the dark. Watching light glow and then fade, feeling the ache that accompanied each flex of his magic, and the rush that followed. 

It was amazing. Stiles felt like a cage in his chest had been burst open that first night, and now his magic was pouring out, feeling the hollow spaces he had never realised he had.

And at the same time, he had never felt so alone.

Closing his eyes, he had reached out, subconsciously, and found his dad. 

Sleeping, at the room at the end of the hall, peaceful, familiar. It all washed over Stiles- he felt it like one of the tight hugs his father would give him, holding on just a little longer ever since it had become just the two of them. 

And now, lingering on Dereks’ doorstep, he did the same. Reached out, and found Derek. The first time he had done this, sat so close, Derek's energy had burnt- it had filled every part of Stiles up. Now- with walls between them. It felt different. Like warm light and safety and an electric pulse that set Stiles thoughts a little clearer, his back a little straighter. 

He knocked.

Derek opened the door, looking stoic and like himself, which wasn’t surprising, but Stiles shoved on through into the loft. 

“Afternoon!” He yelled, clattering into the kitchen and chucking his bag on the table.

“Do come in.” Said Derek drily, moving over as Stiles started piling books and his laptop onto the kitchen table.

“I figured,” Stiles started regardless. “That the guys are at lacrosse, Erica, Lydia and Allison are at their self-defence bad-ass-ladies-only gym session, so that leaves you and I to tackle the weekly load of evil-tree research.” 

“That’s not we’re calling it, Stiles.” 

“Don’t chastise me for insulting the tree.” Stiles said, grinning. “We hate the tree.”

“You know that’s not-” Derek started.

“Derek! Stop defending the tree!” Shouted Stiles, laughing. 

“Stiles, for fucks sake-” Derek fumed, but a smile was inching its way into place at the side of its mouth. 

Stiles pointed with victory. “You’re still fighting me on this! You hate the tree! Don’t you? Admit it!” 

Derek rolled his eyes and lunged forwards- but that move hadn’t scared Stiles in years. He danced backwards, out of reach. 

“Stiles-” Derek said, doing a shitty job of looking annoyed.

“Say you hate the tree Derek!” Stiles moved backwards further, Derek- smiling now, following. Stiles spied Dereks’ phone on the counter and made a grab for it, just evading Dereks’ swing for him. 

Crowing in victory, Stiles lifted Dereks’ phone into the air. “I’m going to call everyone and tell them you’re defending the tree!”

“Stiles-” Derek lunged again, caught Stiles’ sleeve, but didn’t pull too hard. He always kept a reign on himself- was always so careful with anyone who wasn’t wolf. It was progress, Stiles figured. When they had first met, Derek had been growls and sharp edges and little else- his unchangeable gentleness towards humans now was endearing. But Stiles wanted it- this once- to bring a little of the wolf out. To feel his magic jump in response. 

“Give-me-my-fucking-” 

Stiles pulled away, and tripped- they’d circled the table, and now Stiles went careening over the back of the sofa, landing on the cushions. 

The phone was tugged from his grip. “Phone.” Finished Derek. 

Stiles blinked up at him. He was regretting his endeavour earlier in the year to make the loft more cosy- he was now practically buried in the cushions. Derek was grinning down at him. It was a little too much to take if Stiles was honest. The full grin wasn’t something he could force out of Derek often. 

There was a beat of silence. Derek’s grin relaxed into something a little softer.

“Go on.” Said Stiles. “Tell me you hate the tree.” 

Derek rolled his eyes, and offered a hand. “Of _course_ I hate the fucking tree.” 

Stiles took the hand, fighting down the magical response that burst behind his eyes. He should've expected what happened next, all werewolves ever did was show off their werewolfy strength, but he still squarked and flailed ungracefully as Derek pulled him up with such force that he went flying up over the back of the sofa. Derek grabbed his upper arm to steady him as he landed.

Stiles glared. “Thanks.” He said dryly. 

Dereks’ eyes widened. He hadn’t let go of Stiles. “Stiles... “ he said softly. “You’re glowing.” 

Stiles looked down at his free hand. Sure enough, soft golden light had filled his veins, causing his skin to glow softly. He flexed his hands, and sparks jumped between his fingers. “Oh yeah.” He said, looking back up at Derek. “Panic response, I guess.”

Derek leant a little closer, eyebrows furrowed, studying Stiles’ face. It did nothing for Stiles’ level of panic, but if Derek noticed his heart rate and jumping pulse, he said nothing. “Even your eyes are glowing.” He said softly. 

Stiles blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Replied Derek, looking even closer. Stiles could see his individual eyelashes. Suddenly, Dereks’ eyes flashed alpha red. 

“Hey.” Said Stiles. “Your eyes are red.” 

“Are they?” Said Derek, moving back and blinking hard. Stiles noticed, for the first time, that Derek was still holding Stiles’ hand and also his arm. Stiles shifted his fingers slightly, and as if realising too, Derek dropped his hands and took a step back, clearing his throat. 

“So, evil-tree research?” Derek asked. 

Stiles grinned triumphantly. “You order pizza, I’ll get the books.” 

Derek smiles a little too, rolled his eyes, and turned on his phone. 

Stiles didn’t have the heart to tell him his eyes were still glowing red. A quick look in his phones’ front camera showed his were still glowing, anyway, so it’s not like he could talk. 

…

An hour later, two pizza boxes and about 12 books between them, Stiles was ready to tear his hair out. 

He’d been scrolling down a university archive on natural world mythology for twenty minutes, and had found about a thousand entries about trees- most of which he had read before. The tree of life, the viking one about the afterlife or something, trees that held up the sky… where were the evil trees that attracted evil? 

“Have you got anything?” Sighed Stiles, looking over at Derek, who was mildly turning the pages of a dusty tome that had either been nicked by Stiles and Lydia from a library or gifted by Deaton.

Derek glanced up. “Yeah, about two slices of pizza. You?” 

“Hilarious.” Said Stiles. “Truly. It’s a wonder you’re not a comedian.” 

Derek smirked. “I have actually found an option. Have you heard of nemeta?” 

Stiles frowned. “Celtic, right?” 

Derek nodded. “Yeah, sacred sites. Burials sometimes I think. They’re often temples, shrines, but also they’re often trees.”

“Are they evil?” 

“Not necessarily, but they’re powerful.” 

Stiles ran a hand through his hair. “But why would there be a sacred Celtic site in California? Unless…”

Derek looked up again. “Unless?”   
“There were never celts here… but there were native americans- they had beliefs tied to trees, right? And trees have all sorts of symbolism- nourishment, life, liberation, transformation… Celts would make old trees sacred, so maybe… it’s the stump of a giant sequoia, right? They’re proper old. So if someone was just picking bits and bobs… tying it to dark liberation… building off ideas but not actually using them…” 

“_Stiles._” Said Derek firmly. 

Stiles jerked his head up. “What?” 

“You’re blabbering senselessly.” 

“Oh.”

“Got an idea though?” Asked Derek. 

Stiles nodded. “I think so. I’ll need Lydia, though. She’s the one with the psychic feelings. Although,” he said, “I can probably help figure it out too, now.” He shrugged at Derek. “Now I’m all, y’know, magical.” He waved a hand in the air to demonstrate, letting light gather between his fingers and dissolve again. 

Derek shook his head, watching the embers of light fade in the air. “You’re still impossible, you know that, right?”

Stiles shrugged and looked away. Then, stealing himself, he raised his gaze back to Derek. The loft was lit with soft yellow light, and it made Dereks’ face a little less sharp, a little more human, warming the colour of his hair and eyes. Stiles found he preferred it normally- stark black and white and sharp bone structure, lit by the moon in a dark wood.

“I need to talk to you about something.” Stiles said, keeping his voice steady. Derek was sat across the table from him, books and Stiles’ laptop in between them, but he still felt too close. 

Derek raised his eyebrows. “Okay.” 

Stiles looked down again, it was easier. “The first time I activated my magic, I broke a bond on it. My- someone must have bound my magic, to keep me safe, or to stop me being dangerous… either way, I had to use a lot of force to break it. And I did it…” Stiles paused, looked up. 

Derek was watching him intently. “To save us.” He finished for Stiles. 

Stiles looked down again, heart hammering. He fiddled absently with a pencil he’d dropped on his keyboard. “Right. And afterwards- I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t reach it. I didn’t know what I could do, or how, until…” Derek said nothing. “Until I figured it out. It was fear, I guess, instinctual fear, when I thought-”  
“That we were in danger? The pack?”

Stiles groaned internally. “Kind of. But- that doesn’t really make sense? I’ve watched you all almost die a hundred times, and it’s never materialised before. So I tried to figure out what had changed, why I felt so scared for you that I could break the bonds on my magic.” 

“Did you figure it out?” Asked Derek softly.

Stiles had to look up now. Dereks’ eyes were soft and steady, utterly focused on Stiles. Stiles swallowed. “Yeah, I think so.” He drew in a breath. “Can I try something?” 

Derek only raised his eyebrows in response. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, and held out his hand, hoping that Derek would have the good graces not to mention how much it was shaking. 

“Stiles…” Derek hesitated, looking at Stiles’ outstretched hand. “I’m not sure I-”

“I won’t hurt you.” Stiles said, heart hammering. 

Derek looked at him strangely, his expression twisting with something Stiles couldn’t name. “I know you won’t.” He said softly. “That’s not what I meant.”

Before Stiles could ask what, exactly, he had meant, Derek put his hand in Stiles own. 

It was what Stiles expected, and also utterly unexpected. It was like being being thrown into the sea when Stiles had spent his whole life watching the waves. It was a channel, bursting open, a river gushing between them. Light burst into the room from Stiles, and there was nothing he could do to tamper it. His heart had sped up, and was matched, beat for beat, by Dereks’ own- they were twin flames, leaping together into a blaze for the first time. 

Stiles fell into it with wild abandon. Derek was gasping in shock, and Stiles let him see. 

The bogeyman- from Stiles’ eyes- huge and grotesque and deadly, its mouth open, teeth gleaming, it’s claws dripping with blood. And Derek- seconds from death. Twice- twice he was so close to dying. And Stiles let Derek feel- feel Stiles’ terror, feel his heart aching in the fear of anything happening to Derek- his chest in such pain that it snapped bond after bond, and magic gushed free- blood from an open wound, filling that dark wood. 

Stiles let the image stay, but pulled back- the magic, and his hand. The light faded, leaving them both sat at the table, Dereks’ hand in between them, still outstretched. 

Stiles watched him carefully, aware of what he had just shared- the conclusion Derek would have drawn. Derek slowly dropped his hand to the table. When he met Stiles’ gaze, his eyes were alpha-red.

Stiles swallowed. As scared as he had been, in that wood, he thought his fear might be matched by right now.

Derek closed his eyes, and took a long, slow, breath. When he opened his eyes again, they were back to normal. The silence between them stretched. 

Stiles thought he might be sick.

“You should go.” Derek said softly, and Stiles felt his ribs break under the impact. 

There was silence. 

“Why?” Said Stiles, and his throat ached. 

Derek closed his eyes again. “Because whatever you think, whatever you just showed me, you’re wrong.” His eyes opened. “You’re wrong, and you’re deluded, and you should go.”

Stiles glared. “Am I always going to be some stupid kid to you?” 

Derek stood. “Until you stop acting like one, yes.”

Stiles got to his feet as well- but Derek had already turned away. “I’m not.” He said, feeling anger rolling in his stomach. “You’re just a coward.” 

Derek turned- and there was those red eyes, there was the wolf. “I’m not a coward, Stiles. But I’m not part of the fairytale you’re spinning, either.” 

“Oh really, big bad wolf?” Quipped Stiles, striding forwards. 

Derek stopped him with an outstretched hand. “Not another step. You’re wrong, and ignorant, and _whole_. So leave.”

Stiles’ anger dropped. “Whole? What? Derek-”

“I SAID GO.” Shouted Derek, and Stiles stumbled back. Pure loathing flashed in his eyes, fixed on Stiles. “You are _wrong_, and it is not _fair_\- for you to even-” Derek was breathing deeply. He turned, in one sudden movement, and strode to the door. “Leave.” He said, and shut the door behind himself. 

Stiles was alone, and his breaths were too loud in the empty room. 

Numbly, he packed his rucksack back up, hands unsteady. He put the pizza boxes in the bin, tucked in the chairs. He sent one last, searching look of the loft, as if Derek might spring out from behind a chair and tell him- 

Tell him what? What had Stiles been expecting, really?

_Not this._

Stiles let the door swing shut behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

It takes Stiles about twenty minutes to figure out that Derek Hale is sat on his roof. He knows as soon as he lies down in bed and lets his magic free, which is like exhaling after being underwater. With his friends, on his own, he lets it run free- it normally lights up the room for a bit, then settles down. 

But tonight, as soon as he lets it free, it sets off a firework display in his skull and also in his room- because it can sense Derek on the roof. 

Which is pretty bloody embarrassing, because Derek definitely noticed the fireworks. They probably spilt out of the window. 

Stiles breathes deeply, brings the magic back under control, and lies still, heart thumping. He stares at the dark ceiling, imagining he could see through it to Derek, probably hunched like an angry-looking crow. On second thought, he probably could see through it, if he really tried, but that seemed a little voyeuristic. And like a waste of magic. Not that his magic seemed to run out. 

Derek wasn’t going to leave, and Stiles wouldn’t sleep until he did. 

_Brilliant._

Stiles opened the window and said, normal volume, “You’re a prick, and you know it.” 

There was no response, but as Stiles almost fell to his death in his attempt to clamber onto the roof, strong hands grabbed his upper arms and dragged him up and onto the tiles. Stiles’ roof was remarkably good to sit on- the loft conversion Stiles mum had insisted on when they’d bought the house had led to new extensions that made an uneven and comfortable silhouette.

Derek had found a spot against one of the dormer windows, and as soon as Stiles was unlikely to fall to his death, he moved back to it. 

Stiles was right, Derek did look like an angry crow. 

“Why are you here?” Stiles asked. Which he felt was a fair question, as barely two hours ago Derek had been telling him to get out.

Derek levelled him a stern look, which Stiles thought is unnecessary. But he got the unsaid words. 

_Where else would I be, Stiles._

Stiles huffed. “Great, thanks for your concern, asshat. I’m fine. So go away, let me sleep, and I’ll leave you alone. Okay?” 

Derek sighed, and sat back, running a hand through his hair, looking quite suddenly smaller, and more vulnerable. And when he met Stiles’ eyes again, Stiles noticed the dark circles, the crumpled brow, the grief in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” Derek said, quietly. Not flinching from Stiles’ gaze. “I’m really, really, fucking sorry.” 

Stiles didn’t know quite what to say. “Okay.”

“I didn’t mean a single word. I swear- I didn’t mean it.” Dereks’ tone was urgent, serious. Stiles wished he would crack a smile- but at the same time he couldn’t take his eyes away. “I was just saying anything I could think of to make you leave. To make you change your mind.”

Stiles shook his head. “I haven’t made up my mind, Derek. I haven’t decided anything. I’ve barely thought through it. I’m just reacting to…” he waved his hand vaguely in the air, “all of this.” 

Derek finally looked away, hunching his shoulders and looking out into the night. “I don’t even know what that means.”

Stiles nodded. “Oh, I know. You didn’t let me explain.”

Derek sneaks a guilty glance. “I am sorry.” 

Stiles grinned, a little, but it made his chest ache. “I know. You don’t need to understand it though, it’s okay. I mean, it’s not, right now, but it will be. Eventually. I’m sure.”

“..._Stiles_ . What are you talking about?” 

Stiles gestured wildly. “You’ve given me my answer! And it sucks, trust me, but that bit isn’t your fault. You were a complete ass about it- and that is your fault, but it’s not your fault you don’t…” 

He has to look down now. He shouldn’t be embarrassed- he’s leapt this leap already, let Derek all the way inside his head to see how Stiles sees him. But saying it seems harder. For some reason. 

Stiles sighed. He just wanted to sleep, now. “You don’t want me.” 

Derek said nothing, and neither did Stiles. 

After a moment, in which Stiles plotted the least dangerous path back through his window (and promptly decided he’d just use magic), Derek spoke. 

“What if it’s just magic?” He asked quietly. “Everything you’re thinking.”

Stiles barked a bitter laugh. “It’s a nice thought, Derek, but unfortunately not. I’ve wanted you since you were dying in front of me and telling me to cut off your arm. But if you want to think I’m just confused with all the magic stuff, go for it. The magic stuff has just made it harder to ignore, really.”

_Harder to ignore_ is a very nice way of saying that Stiles finds air so much more palatable if Derek is breathing it too- that Derek lights up his magic like sparklers in cold night air- that Derek could fall off this roof right now, and Stiles would probably expel so much magic he would change the laws of gravity, just to save him. That Derek is blinding light and crackling fire and feels like coming home. 

There was more silence. Then, even quieter, “That long?” Asked Derek. 

The air went out of Stiles. “Yeah. Just- don’t. I don’t want your pity or your condescension. You can go, apology accepted.”

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Stiles didn’t care. “I don’t care.” 

He stood- unsteady, unbalanced. He never would have dared to a week ago. But what did it matter? His magic fizzed under his skin. 

“Stiles! Be careful!”

“What for?” Stiles asked, shaking his head at Derek. 

“It’s not safe-”

“For humans. You’re safe, and so am I, now.” He spins, his back to the drop. His stomach lurched as he slipped, human instincts realising he was going to fall, that it was three-story drop onto concrete- but he didn’t need human instincts anymore. His head felt cool, calm, like still water. His magic jumped to the surface. 

His bare feet slipped on the tiles, he overbalanced, and pitched off the edge- felt the rush of air, the vicious tug of fear- 

Derek grabbed him, for the second time that night, and hauled him forward. Supernatural strength and ability to balance kept him steady as he tugged Stiles to safety. And it was too close- Stiles could feel the leather of Dereks’ jacket and smell him- sandalwood and rain. Stiles couldn’t be this close- it made his magic spark and slip from his control, and it made his chest ache. Like pressing on a bruise. 

“Derek-” Stiles started, but couldn’t finish, because Derek was still holding him tightly, pressing them close together, and when Stiles looked up, he just saw Derek: gorgeous and ruined, breathing hard despite his werewolf powers, and his mouth was _so close-_

Derek kissed him. 

It was one, sudden movement. Derek’s hand on his jaw, tilting his chin, and warm lips on his, feverish and desperate- and Stiles could give that back- fast and starving and teetering on the edge of breakdown. 

Derek kissed him like he was angry. Like he couldn’t stop. 

The world spun, Stiles fell apart. Magic filled every pore, every breath, crackling and sparking between them. Derek’s hand fisted in his hair, pushing them closer, his other a steel brace on Stiles’ back. Stiles could only hold on.

Then he pushed Derek away. Not gently. Let his magic (it was spilling out of him anyway) steady him. 

Derek stared at him, and Stiles stared back. He knew he didn’t have to say anything. 

“I’m sorry.” Derek said.

Stiles nodded. “I know.”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you.” 

Stiles grinned, a little. “Probably not. Definitely not like that.”

Derek took a deep breath. “You deserve better, Stiles, in about a thousand ways.” Derek ran a hand through his hair, which was already pretty messy. (Had Stiles done that?) “That’s why I shouted at you. I am-” he paused. Swallowed, and kept his gaze steady. “I am a complete, fucking, mess. In so many ways you know and so many you don’t.”

Derek still didn’t get it. Stiles wasn’t choosing him. Stiles had already chosen. 

“You deserve better.” Derek said again. 

Stiles nodded, smiled. “So be better. It’s on you now, Sourwolf. I’ve done my bit for the time being.” 

“I don’t-” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Figure it out.” 

With that, he spread his arms and fell backwards. 

This time, as soon as his stomach lurched with the fall, his magic caught him, and he laughed, open into the night sky, and soared back into his bedroom.

A few minutes later, he felt Derek leave- felt his electric presence leave his head, and settle firmly, warmly, in his chest.


End file.
